Despite significant wobbles, England pulled together and ended up snatching a domineering draw from the jaws of defeat.
But what is clear is that my studious not listening on Saturday evening (well, early Sunday morning) must have contributed to the good second innings showing. I simply must not listen to another ball, and the series is in the bag...
Superstition is a strange thing!
25 November 2010
17 November 2010
Whilst life passes by on the banks.
So something has happened that prompted me to write again, however briefly. Yesterday I broke a long duck - and it broke me back, albeit in a nice and polite way and overall much more.... pleasantly than expected. However it was expected.
I'm no good with life, I'm no good with people, and occasions that make me interested in other people are few and far between. Yesterday I grasped for a branch to maybe pull myself a little closer to the shore where everyone else seems to hang out and have fun, knowing full well it would likely pull out of my hands as the current swept me by. This may not sound significant but even two months ago I would have foregone that slight chance at rescue, accepting my fate and preserving the skin on my hands.
However the whole situation put me in mind of Bryan Lee O'Malley's excellent Lost at Sea - a comic about an 18 year old girl that sums up this 30 year old man far, far better than it should. I have a sudden burning desire to read it again, but my copy is back in the UK and I won't be able to lay hands on it for another 5 days. The title alone rather sums up life in my head - I can't see land or anyone else, let alone make contact, and previous attempts have been so disastrous I have more or less forgotten how to try. You should read it too, it really is excellent. Everyone has been there at one time or another. Cogent criticism escapes me now, but as someone who has, by a certain way of thinking, been 18 for 12 years that is only to be expected.
So titling at yesterday's windmill was a success of sorts, despite the inevitable failure. Rebuilding takes time - time I may not have, but time I have to try to find - the isolation alone is killing me, an acute pain with chronic duration and one I have never managed to overcome, despite building some pretty formindable walls.
Rambling now, not making sense - much like the thoughts in my mind and the inevitable self-destruction that comes with my innate over-analysis. I'm trying to do, not think; to not regret and to be better for it. I'm failing at first, but practice makes perfect, right?